


I Didn't Raise My Boy to Be a Soldier

by smileinthedark



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gift Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 07:50:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1104293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smileinthedark/pseuds/smileinthedark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is December 24th on the Western Front, 1914. Private Beilschmidt just wants Dr. Edelstein to leave the medical tent and see the Christmas truce with his own eyes. - WWI, Human AU - PruAus Secret Santa gift for album-teutonis</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Didn't Raise My Boy to Be a Soldier

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the wartime song of the same same, though the two have little in common.

_\-- Christmas Eve -- 1914 -- The Western Front --_

Roderich can hear the quick, heavy footfalls outside and recognizes the man running to the tent even before he rounds the corner and flips the tarp out of the way so he can enter, breathless and smiling. 

“It’s happening, doc” he says, eyes sparkling and cheeks flushed. “It’s really happening, you’ve got to go see!” Roderich sighs and shakes his head, unable to keep a small smile of his own from creeping onto his face. 

“You know that I’m forbidden from going to the front lines, Private Beilschmidt, no matter the occasion.” Gilbert crosses his arms and opens his mouth to retort, but Roderich stands and holds a finger to the other man’s lips, shushing him. 

“What would the infantry do if I got shot and died out there?” Whatever Gilbert has to say dies on his lips and Roderich continues. “I’m the only fully trained physician at this post, you know that.” 

“But doc,” Gilbert whines, following Roderich as he gathers up the pile of Christmas mail on his table and steps out of the sectioned-off corner of the medical station that serves as his office. Roderich doesn’t dignify Gilbert’s whining with a response, but also does not stop the other man from following him through the cramped maze of beds as he distributes the letters that come for the wounded, bedridden soldiers. 

Gilbert greets everyone as he passes and the tent is noisier, the atmosphere lighter and more restless than it usually is. The gentlemen trade jokes and boastfully read aloud letters from their families and sweethearts and Gilbert’s uproarious laughter fills the air. 

“It’s a Christmas truce,” Roderich hears Gilbert tell a couple of the men. “Some of the guys were dressing up the trenches with ornaments and singing carols, and then the British started singing back in English. Everyone was a little edgy at first, but Hans was gutsy enough to shout ‘Merry Christmas’ at them – in English, y’know – and a bunch of ‘em shouted back. One even answered in German!” 

There is another smile threatening to break out on Roderich’s face and this time he lets it, smiling as he hands a letter to one of the amputees who is listening to Gilbert’s news. He takes the letter from Roderich’s hand and thumps Roderich heartily on the back as he flips over the envelope to look at the return address. 

“It’s from my wife!” he bellows, eagerly ripping it open to the hoots and hollers of the other patients. 

“What about you, Beilschmidt?” one of them asks, “We never see you getting any mail. You got a pretty girl waiting at home for you?” 

“His mail doesn’t come here, stupid,” someone shouts, but all eyes are on Gilbert anyway and he beams, sidling up next to Roderich. 

“But I’ve got pretty Dr. Edelstein right here, what more do I need?” The tent bursts into familiar laughter and someone – though Roderich can’t tell whom – whistles. 

“Prettiest thing on the whole damn front,” one of them agrees. 

“You keep at it, Beilschmidt,” says another. 

Roderich would flush, unused to and unwelcoming of the attention, but this is far from the first time Gilbert has pulled such a stunt and so Roderich just falls into the familiar banter. 

“Private Beilschmidt just says that because none of the girls back home can stomach his obnoxious personality, isn’t that right? Settling for a pretty man is not the answer to your problem, Beilschmidt.” 

“I’m not settling!” Gilbert insists loudly, over a chorus of laughs and jeers. Roderich smacks him lightly over the head with a folder and then turns around to distribute the last of the mail. Gilbert isn’t finished, though, and grabs Roderich by the shoulder. 

“Hey, doc, what do you want for Christmas?” Roderich turns to him, quirking an eyebrow. 

“It’s tomorrow, Private Beilschmidt. Were you planning on getting me something? So late? With what money?” The corners of Roderich’s mouth twitch into a grin as Gilbert flushes and sputters. 

“W-well if you know that, then just don’t ask for something I can’t give!” Roderich falls silent and taps his folder to his chin, feigning deep thought. 

“Does that mean I can’t ask for good Viennese coffee, then? Ah, how disappointing.” Laughter bubbles up again around them as Roderich hands off the last letter and begins to make his way back to the office, Gilbert fending off the other soldiers’ teasing and trailing sulkily behind him. 

Once in the office, Gilbert’s grin fades and he grabs Roderich’s wrist. 

“So you really won’t come out to see the truce?” Roderich shakes his head, apologetic. “But it’s Christmas,” Gilbert protests, “you can’t just stay alone in the medical tent. Won’t you be lonely?” 

“I will be just fine, Private,” Roderich answers, rolling up his folder and tapping it gently on Gilbert’s nose. “Now, if you’re as excited about the truce as you keep saying you are, I think perhaps you should go back out there and enjoy it.” 

Gilbert frowns but otherwise does not answer, and he departs with a quiet ‘later, doc’ that leaves a heavy weight on Roderich’s chest. For several minutes, Roderich just sits there, staring down at the folder in his hands until he remembers that he wants to file it away. He paces across the office to put the folder where it belongs and Roderich finds that once he is standing, he does not want to sit back down. Instead he pushes aside the tarp entrance and looks up at the sky. It’s darker than black out on the front, but the stars are bright and brilliant and even though it is freezing, it doesn’t seem as cold when Roderich looks up. 

Of all the gifts and letters that come this week, none are for Roderich and he knows not to expect any, not when he himself went out of his way to make it clear to his family that he did not want to receive anything. Roderich was the one who told them to save their time and their money, but even so Roderich acknowledges that it is lonely, spending Christmas in a cold tent surrounded by injured men who struggle to get out of bed. Roderich steps inside when he starts to lose feeling in the tips of his fingers and shushes his thoughts, reminding himself of how lucky he is that he is on the Western Front merely as a doctor, and not as any one of the many unfortunate young men who show up at the medical bay – or worse, do not even make it that far. 

It is late, and so Roderich dresses for bed, his eye catching sight of the evergreen branches that Gilbert had tied into the approximate shape of a tree and given him earlier in the week. It is the last thing he cares to focus on before he turns off the lamp and drifts off to sleep. 

 _\-- Christmas Day -- 1914 -- The Western Front --_  

Roderich knows something is amiss when Gilbert comes in early and only waves a distracted hello to him on the way in before walking into the infirmary to talk with the soldiers. Instead of the loud, boisterous atmosphere that usually follows Gilbert, especially into the medical bay, all Roderich can hear are hushed whispers and the occasional poorly-muffled laugh. 

Curious, Roderich lets himself out of his office and immediately the whole tent falls silent to stare. Roderich’s eyes lock on Gilbert, who is clutching two packs of cigarettes to his chest and looking extremely guilty.

“Private Beilschmidt, what are you doing?” 

“Nothing!” Gilbert answers, shoving the cigarettes into his pockets and hurrying toward the exit. “See you later, doc! Going to go out and enjoy my Christmas truce!” 

Just like that, Gilbert is gone, and Roderich turns back to the rest of the soldiers, expression questioning. Instead of answering, however, they just grin at him, some stifling laughs and others offering condolences or congratulations. Confused and irrationally irritated, Roderich scowls and strides back into his office, sequestering himself to his table and the small mountain of paperwork that has piled up there over the last month. 

Neck deep in official documents, Roderich does not notice the time pass and it’s already afternoon by the time Gilbert returns – with bloodshot eyes, but smiling widely. 

“Merry Christmas, Roderich,” and before Roderich can correct him – it’s Dr. Edelstein – Gilbert is shoving a small paper bag into his hands. The weight is solid and surprising in Roderich’s grasp and he finds himself frozen, unable to do anything but stare at Gilbert in surprise. 

“Is this…?” he trails off, unable to properly formulate his question. 

“It’s your Christmas present. Open it.” Gilbert’s wild, enthusiastic grin has softened into something sincere and foreign, a look Roderich is not used to seeing on him. 

“I didn’t ask-” Roderich starts, looking down at the package. “You didn’t have to…I can’t accep- I didn’t think you were being serious yesterday!” Instead of responding right away, Gilbert averts his eyes and scratches awkwardly at the back of his head, cheeks pink. 

“I know that, just open it,” Gilbert mumbles, still refusing to meet Roderich’s eyes. Roderich acquiesces and reaches into the bag, then almost drops what he pulls out, a palm-sized can with ‘Instant Coffee’ emblazoned on it in English in white, stylized type. 

“Gilbert…” Roderich starts, rolling the can in his hands, but Gilbert interrupts. 

“I know it’s not real, Viennese coffee, but it was the best I could do.” 

“Gilbert!” Roderich says again, overwhelmed with an emotion he cannot pinpoint, but that feels ready to burst forth from his chest. “How did you get this? Where did this come from?” 

“Bartered with a British soldier for it,” Gilbert says proudly. “You don’t know how hard it was to find one who actually had coffee. Most of them had tea, y’know, like the English always do, but one guy had a couple cans of coffee so I traded him like two packs of cigarettes and a chocolate bar for it, said the coffee was for someone really important. I still needed to beg a whole pack of cigarettes off one of the guys, though, since-“ 

Roderich puts a finger to Gilbert’s lips to stop his rambling and Gilbert’s teeth clack shut as he instantly shuts up, red creeping up his neck. 

“I’m someone important?” Roderich asks, the ghost of a smile on his lips. Gilbert’s eyes pop open, as if suddenly realizing what he has said, and he gestures wildly, stumbling over his words as he tries to explain or deny, Roderich isn’t sure which. 

“Thank you, Gilbert,” he says instead, and Gilbert stutters to a halt. 

“You’re not calling me Private Beilschmidt today,” Gilbert says, and Roderich jolts, realizing that the soldier is right. 

“I guess not,” Roderich answers, finding himself unable to look Gilbert in the eye. Instead he walks out of the office and into the infirmary, Gilbert following behind him as he makes his rounds and checks up on his patients. 

“So, did you get your present, Dr. Edelstein?” one of them asks loudly, a roughish smile gracing his lips. 

“I did,” he answers, smiling and feeling more comfortable now that he can make jokes in the presence of the patients that have, in a sense, become audience to his and Gilbert’s silly banter. 

“It’s not what I asked for,” he continues, pouting theatrically, “but I suppose it will have to do. It’s just like Private Beilschmidt to get my hopes up like that, only to disappoint me.” Loud, guffawing laughter reverberates around the room and Gilbert turns to him, looking affronted. 

“I told you not to ask for something you knew I couldn’t get!” Gilbert shouts, flustered. “What about me? Where’s my Christmas gift?” Roderich tilts his head, considering. 

“I never said I was getting you a gift,” Roderich answers with a grin. “Were you expecting one? How sly, Private Beilschmidt, getting me a present only so you could ask for one in return.” 

“That’s not-“ Gilbert starts. “I didn’t mean-“ The rest of Gilbert’s embarrassed stammering is lost to the laughter around them and the man in the bed next to him slaps him playfully on the thigh and mimes shoving his foot in his mouth. 

“Good job, Beilschmidt,” someone laughs. 

“Aw, give him something, Dr. Edelstein,” says another, and the tent erupts into sounds of agreement, Gilbert turning to face Roderich with a pitifully imploring look on his face. 

“Alright, Private Beilschmidt,” Roderich assents, hands held up in mock surrender. “A reward for your gallant gift, then, since your fellow soldiers backed you up so nicely. What would you like?” 

“A kiss,” Gilbert answers, stepping forward eagerly almost before Roderich can finish the question. The barking laughter and wolf whistling that follow are almost deafening and Roderich crosses his arms and wets his lips, leveling a disapproving look Gilbert’s way. 

“How impudent, Private,” Roderich says, turning up his nose in exaggerated disgust. “What kind of man do you thin-“ 

“Then come out to the font lines to see the truce,” Gilbert interrupts, grabbing Roderich by the wrist and pulling, so that the two of them are facing one another. “Please, doc? That’s all I want for Christmas, come on.” 

“Beilschmidt,” Roderich starts, tone low in warning. However, before he can continue the entire infirmary is urging him on. 

“Go on Dr. Edelstein, go see the truce!” 

“Come on, doctor, give Beilschmidt his gift!” 

“We’ll cover for you if the supervisor comes, we promise!” 

“Come back and tell us what it’s like, none of us actually believe Private Beilschmidt is telling the truth!” 

Roderich tries to wave off their urging, but the soldiers only get louder and Gilbert is gripping his wrist and grinning wildly and Roderich finally relents. 

“Fine, fine!” he says. “I’ll go see the truce, but if I get caught by my superiors and you end up with a new physician, all of you will have no one to blame but yourselves.” The warning falls on deaf ears, though, and the medical tent is still alive with noise when Roderich leaves for his office, Gilbert still clinging to his wrist. 

“I need you to let go of me, Beilschmidt,” Roderich says once they’re alone in the office, and though Gilbert gives him a wary, sidelong glance, he lets go anyway. 

“Are you really going to come see the truce, doc?” Gilbert asks, and Roderich answers his question by removing the identifying medic brassard from around his upper arm and setting it neatly upon the table. 

“Well, Private,” Roderich says, “if I get shot at or lose my job, at least I’ll know who to blame. Now, lead the way.” 

“Yes!” Gilbert nods enthusiastically, pulling Roderich out of the tent and to the front lines. 

It’s a couple of hours to sundown and they have to take the long way around, continuously ducking out of the way of superior officers and anyone they think might pose a problem, but by the time they make it to the trenches Roderich’s heart is beating out of his chest with genuine excitement. It is a feeling he has almost forgotten about while on the front, surrounded by fear and constantly feeling the heavy weight of others’ lives in his hands, but the excitement is potent now and so Roderich doesn’t even protest when Gilbert grabs his hand and drags him across no man’s land. 

Gilbert introduces Roderich to upwards of a dozen German soldiers and even a handful of British ones, and even though the two of them arrive empty handed, Roderich soon finds himself laden down with trinkets and small gifts. 

“Something nice for the doctor who keeps soldiers alive,’ one of them says, handing Roderich a small flask of peppermint schnapps and squeezing his upper arm in what Roderich supposes is gratitude. 

“Oh! One of the Brits decorated the tree,” Gilbert says running back to Roderich from wherever he had wandered off to and again grabbing him by the hand so he can lead him away. The ‘tree’, Roderich finds, is nothing but a small evergreen bush that pokes up resiliently from the barren soil between the trenches. It’s been wrapped in tinsel and has small ornaments hanging off some of the sturdier branches and Roderich cannot help the smile that finds his lips, the joyous laughter that bubbles up his throat. 

Gilbert whips around at the sound of Roderich’s laughter, turning to stare at him with bright, wide eyes and an even brighter, wider smile. 

“You’re laughing!” he says incredulously, and Roderich just nods and struggles to stop, his hand coming up to his mouth and failing to muffle the sound of his chortles. It’s difficult to stop, especially when Gilbert starts laughing with him, doubling over and nearly knocking Roderich to the ground as he does, but eventually the two of them manage to breathe properly and fall silent, standing in front of the Christmas truce tree and exchanging smiles with the other soldiers who pass by to point and grin or add small decorations to the branches. 

“It’s getting dark,” Roderich says, breaking the silence as he watches the sun glimmer on the horizon. “I should really be getting back before I get myself into trouble.” 

Instead of arguing, Gilbert just nods and follows Roderich back to the infirmary, the two of them walking beside each other and occasionally brushing shoulders in the cold. Out of the corner of his eye Roderich can see Gilbert smiling softly every time their shoulders touch, his pale cheeks pink from the cold. His smile is infectious and soon Roderich finds himself tucking his nose into the scarf one of the other soldiers gave him, trying to hide a smile of his own. 

They reach the medical tent and Gilbert follows Roderich in, hovering over him as Roderich deposits the gifts he received on his table, neatly arranging the food and the liquor and removing the scarf from around his neck and hanging it over his chair. It doesn’t strike Roderich until he sees the gifts all laid out like that just how many there are, and suddenly he feels overwhelmed. 

“I wasn’t expecting to get any gifts this year,” Roderich admits quietly, wanting to look Gilbert in the eye but finding himself looking instead somewhere around the other man’s throat. 

“I know,” Gilbert says, looking down and shuffling his feet. “I kind of, uh, saw the letters you were writing to your relatives back home. I really didn’t mean to, but they were open on the table one day, when I came looking for you and you weren’t in the office. So I just, uh took a quick glance while you were with the patients.” 

“Gilbert,” Roderich scolds breathlessly, meaning to sound accusing. 

“I know,” Gilbert says. “I shouldn’t have, but they were right there and I just…I figured you deserved to get Christmas gifts more than pretty much anyone else here.” 

“Gilbert,” Roderich says again, feeling tears spring to the corners of his eyes and discreetly wiping them away. “I-” 

“I’m really glad you came to the trenches,” Gilbert interrupts, still looking down at his boots. “I was really worried that I was going to have to bring all those gifts back here myself so you would receive them. You probably wouldn’t have even gotten some of them, since some of the guys didn’t believe me when I said I would bring them to you. Everyone wanted to thank you, y’know, for doing your job and taking care of us. All the soldiers like you, Roderich.” Gilbert pauses to catch his breath and then smiles. 

“You’re calling me Gilbert again,” he says softly, and finally looks up, meeting Roderich’s eyes. Roderich’s hand is pressed to his mouth and he is too stunned to respond, his eyes slightly wet around the edges and his fingers trembling. 

“I…I guess I am,” Roderich answers, moving his hand from in front of his mouth, and his voice is steady enough that he feels comfortable continuing. “You’ve been calling me Roderich all day and I haven’t had a chance to correct you.” 

“Will you?” Gilbert asks, stepping forward to run a thumb under Roderich’s eyes and wipe away the few tears that have spilled over. 

“Not today,” Roderich says, closing his eyes and leaning into Gilbert’s touch, voice cracking into blissful, contented laughter. 

The two of them stay like that for a few moments, until Roderich can feel his heart rate returning to a normal, steady beat. He removes Gilbert’s hand, then, and takes a step back, turning to look at the gifts that cover his desk. 

“You got me much more than one gift today, Private Beilschmidt,” Roderich says, picking up the scarf and looping it around Gilbert’s neck. Gilbert looks at him, brows furrowed in confusion, and Roderich cannot help but find the expression incredibly endearing. 

“It’s only right that I repay your thoughtfulness. Now, what was that other gift you wanted?” Roderich asks, playfully smiling up at Gilbert. “Oh, right, I think you said something about a kiss?” 

“O-oh,” is all Gilbert is able to get out before Roderich tugs on the scarf around Gilbert’s neck and pulls him down, pressing their lips together in a soft, quick kiss. When they part, it is but centimeters, and Roderich can feel Gilbert’s breath on his lips before Gilbert’s hand moves to the back of Roderich’s head, tugging him into another, more urgent kiss. Roderich opens his mouth to swipe his tongue across Gilbert’s bottom lip and soon their tongues are sliding together, Roderich’s hands finding themselves on Gilbert’s hips, and Gilbert’s sliding down to rest on Roderich’s shoulders. When they finally break apart Roderich is breathless and Gilbert is looking at him in awe, the soft expression making Roderich’s heart leap in his chest. 

“It’s late,” Roderich says, his thumbs still rubbing circles into Gilbert’s hipbones beneath his uniform. 

“You need to go back to your post, Private.” Gilbert hums, frowning as he lets his hands slide from Roderich’s shoulders down to his upper arms. 

“Do I have to?” he asks, looking at Roderich imploringly. 

“Yes, you do,” Roderich answers, cupping Gilbert’s cheeks with his hands and kissing him once more. 

“Thank you, Gilbert Beilschmidt. Merry Christmas.” 

Gilbert’s lips twist into a charming, crooked grin and before he leaves he places a hand on the side of Roderich’s neck and presses a kiss to Roderich’s forehead. 

“Merry Christmas to you too, Roderich Edelstein. Good night, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

**Author's Note:**

> So sorry for being late! Hopefully you enjoyed this regardless!


End file.
